[Intro: heavy, echoing bass, a sparse, dark synth line, a scratching sound] [Verse 1] [Beat drops with a gospel-infused, swaggering rhythm, punctuated by a menacing piano key] Step up, step up, the choir's about to begin, But first, let me show you how to truly win. Becky and Betty, they bring their little treats, But I'm the one with the soul, the one who brings the beats. Dressed in fine satin, looking fierce and bold, A story of style and substance, a tale to be told. I raise a brow to the organist, yeah, you heard what I said, Get the show on the road, get it out of your head. [Chorus] [Soulful guitar licks, beat lightens to a powerful, choir-like harmony] On my pitch, on my mark, I hit every note just right, You're trying to keep up, but you're losing the fight. Twelve-year champion, the best in the nation, I'm in my prime, ain't no time for a vacation. [Heavy beat returns, punchy record scratch, piano stabs] [Verse 2] [Faster flow, more urgent, snare drums kick in] You think I'm old, you think I'm about to slow down, But I'm the fiercest voice in this damn town. I'm not losing a beat, not losing a step, Every performance is a masterpiece, a beautiful rep. So stand in line, take notes, and watch me perform, I'm the eye of the hurricane, the center of the storm. [Chorus] [Soulful guitar licks, beat lightens to a powerful, choir-like harmony] On my pitch, on my mark, I hit every note just right, You're trying to keep up, but you're losing the fight. Twelve-year champion, the best in the nation, I'm in my prime, ain't no time for a vacation. [Heavy beat returns, punchy record scratch, piano stabs] [Bridge] [Beat mellows, a more conversational, almost taunting tone] You see me on Sunday, all sweet and serene, But behind the hymnals, I'm a lyrical machine. I'm the reason this choir is famous, you see, I'm the heart, the soul, the pure energy. So don't ever doubt the power of the old, 'Cause we're the ones with the stories, the ones with the gold. [Chorus] [Soulful guitar licks, beat lightens to a powerful, choir-like harmony] On my pitch, on my mark, I hit every note just right, You're trying to keep up, but you're losing the fight. Twelve-year champion, the best in the nation, I'm in my prime, ain't no time for a vacation. [Heavy beat returns, punchy record scratch, piano stabs] [Outro] [Whispered, almost menacing] Yeah... praise the lord... and this lyrical flow... [Beat completely cuts, a final, ominous synth note hangs in the air]
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